


Faded cards: The Drunk

by Xaverri



Series: Threads of the Fade [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst and Porn, Attempt at Humor, Drunken Shenanigans, F/M, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-17
Updated: 2015-04-17
Packaged: 2018-03-23 10:28:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3764773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xaverri/pseuds/Xaverri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke is tired of the pressure of acting the Champion. And what do you do when you get bored? You entertain yourself with that sad drunk dude in the corner of the tavern...</p><p>Updated - now with art!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Faded cards: The Drunk

**Author's Note:**

> I was lucky enough to win a give-away and have requested sad, drunk Alistair to go with this piece. And boy, did Mellorianjart deliver! This mind-blowing piece is all her, and you can find more of her beautiful art on her Tumblr [right here.](http://mellorianjart.tumblr.com/)

**Just because Fate doesn't deal you the right cards, it doesn't mean you should give up. It just means you have to play the cards you get to their maximum potential.**

**_Les Brown_**

 

\--------------------------

 

_Here we go again_ , Marian Hawke smiled at the scene the man was making.

She'd entered the Hanged Man in search of her friends, but Isabela and Varric were nowhere to be seen and so her eyes had landed on the commotion in the corner. The chatty drunk had one of his lapses again; part standing, mostly leaning against the table for support, carelessly waving his ale around as he tried to convince everyone of his lost heritage. Through the years the regulars had learned to shut him out yet tonight Hawke felt a pang of sadness as she witnessed the desperation in his voice, eyes frantically searching for someone's, anyone's attention.

After a moment of consideration she cast a look above, sighed, and padded over to him. He didn't notice her at first, preaching on to deaf-man’s ears until she ventured in his line of sight, stopping right in front of him.

"...and if _I_ was king of these cursed lands, _I_ wouldn't have allowed these horned bastard to be so arrogant and so-, Oh _haaaai_ ," he drawled, slightly blurred eyes focussing on her, " _You_ also did not allow them to be so, to be so- _Maker's breath_ , what are they again?"

"Dead," she grinned.

"Yes, dead! I wouldn't have- _heeey_ wait, are they _dead_? Well I _certainly_ would've allowed that. Them with their horns and their, their," here he puffed up and gestured at himself wildly. Hawke laughed, "Their chests?" she supplied helpfully.

He deflated, nodding so eagerly that he had to steady himself on the table.

"Mind if I join you for a while?"

His eyes widened, his surprise clear that someone would sit with him as he gestured for the chair, lowering himself to the bench. A drink was in order, so she waved over Norah to order two mugs of ale, noticing other patrons tipping their drinks in thanks to her placating the shouting.

He was silent now, staring down at the empty mug in his hands, lost in thoughts. He probably had forgotten about her already, she thought sadly. Hawke studied the lines on his face and wondered how he would look without the darkened bags below blood-shot eyes. Without the wrinkles between his brows from frowning too much. Without the bitter smell of alcohol surrounding him. The skin below his stubble was dry and flaky from what she guessed were nights spent crying himself to sleep and her heart ached for the man he could have been.

A fresh mug was placed in front of him and he looked up in shock, amber eyes locking on hers as if he only now saw her. Hawke tried a smile and raised her own drink to him in salute.

He sniffed it then took a sip, narrowing his eyes as if he'd expected her to serve him poison, or worse; water.

"Why are you here?" she asked, "I mean, you always claim you're some kind of Ferelden Prince, yet you're in this backwater place, drinking yourself into a stupor each day."

She shrugged admittedly at his suspicious look, also unclear of her sudden interest after years of passing by in ignorance.

"I have my reasons," he sniffed, "Why are you suddenly so eager to know? No one ever is and I've seen you coming in and out for years and here you are. Did you get bored of all the people running after you, with their puppy faces?"

She'd be insulted if it was anyone else, but his words rang painfully true in her ears and instead of snapping back she felt a rare need to be open towards this stranger.

"You are correct, I am bored. Bored of having to fix everyone's mess, bored of the ridiculous presumptions about me, bored of having to hide being a mage, bored of the parties and the slaughter, the _wrongness_ of it all,” her hand tightened around the mug, anger threatening to break through her trained poise, “They want to honour me saving a little girl and it turns out to be this gallant ball with dinner and entertainment and I don't even _own_ a dress anymore let alone have someone to escort me. So I show up because I feel obliged to but they all eye me as if I don't belong and it is so, utterly, _boring_."

He lifted an eyebrow at her hissed outburst. She breathed deeply and sat back, heavily armoured robes rustling with the motion. Hawke eyed him but he stayed silent so she continued with a shrug, "Everyone is always at my back, demanding this, demanding that and, well. I just needed a drink and none of my _puppies_ seem to be along so," here she held her mug up in mock salute and downed the contents in one go.

He barked out a laugh, then waved over Norah for another round, "It looks like you and I have more in common than I thought, and that definitely requires more ale."

Silently she recounted the amount of different moods that he'd been displaying over the past few minutes, it was as if he couldn't decide for himself who he was any more and wasn't that just bleak? Either he had an envious tolerance to the ale, or he hadn't been that intoxicated to begin with; his eyes now appearing bright and eager at the prospect of a paying drinking buddy.

They drank the night away, trading stories of battles fought and places visited. She still had no idea if his tales were all in his head or if he truly was who he claimed to be, but she felt it didn't matter as long as she was enjoying herself. She had lost count of the drinks they'd shared and had forgotten when they had decided something stronger than ale was a good idea. It had seemed a good idea, somewhere, somehow. Now as she stumbled back from the privy she wasn't so sure of anything anymore. She felt her way around the tables, bumping into equally drunk people along her way who in her head were all merrily gossiping about the Champion of Kirkwall being drunk as fuck.

Hawke didn't care if they cared. Not that she would normally care if she cared that they cared and _Maker_ that made her head spin. _Best to just stop thinking_ , that sounded like the best idea she had all evening. Where was she headed, again? Someone grabbed her to pull her down on a bench and she scoffed indignantly for a moment until his easy laugh reached her; _Ah, that's right. How could I forget getting pissed with Messere Prince?_ Had she already forgotten his name? If he had even mentioned it at all but his amber eyes had haunted her all night and he was suddenly so close, arm wrapped companionably around her shoulders as he pressed another mug of, _something_ , in her hand.

The Hanged Man rarely had entertainment but tonight a travelling lute player had been earning his board in a corner. His song ended and cheers of appreciation were heard. The man beckoned for silence, a futile effort with the boisterous crowd, but he managed to quieten down the patrons around him.

Clutching his lute, he began playing a tender song that Hawke instantly recognised from the overblown festivities of the night before. It had been the only moment untinged with annoyance as the soothing tones caressed her and touched upon something deep inside. The words were lost in the crowd, but the bittersweet melody reached them clearly.

Her drinking partner made a disgusted noise next to her, "Ugh, I _hate_ this song."

"How can you," she frowned at him, "It's beautiful. And here I was hoping for a dance with Prince Charming."

Her jest pulled no mirth from him, "It reminds me of that time at court. The _Landsmeet_. It reminds me of that traitor, it reminds me of her duplicity, it reminds me of how everything I believed in turned on me, kicked me out in the dirt and left me to rot like nothing."

She felt her heart clench in pain at the bitterness in his voice and she reached up to his cheek, turning his head towards her, willing him to see the emotion she held in her eyes for him.

He searched her face, or maybe his eyes were just unable to focus, just like he seemed kind of blurry to her but he was near and warm and nothing else seemed very important. His stare softened and then darkened, his eyes shifting towards her lips. She thought she heard someone call her name but when she looked off the side her eyelids dropped from the sudden feeling of his moist lips on her exposed neck. She moaned loudly at his teeth scraping at her skin harshly, that was probably going to leave a bruise in the morning. Or was it morning already? She would think about that tomorrow because that thing his lips and teeth and, _Andraste's tits,_ his tongue were doing to that spot behind her ear was sending shivers all up and down her spine.

Hawke turned her head back to him and he kissed her sloppily at the corner of her mouth before finding her lips. They both inhaled sharply, he wasted no time and ran his tongue wetly along her lips, igniting sparks in her belly. She reciprocated eagerly, tangling her fingers through his hair to crush him to her. Teeth were clashing and tongues battled and her head swam of the intensity and probably the alcohol as well.

The world fell away beneath her with the force of their kisses before she quite literally came crashing down. He cocked an eyebrow at where she had gracefully landed on her bum after sliding off the bench then laughed along with her. She was on the dirtiest floor in Kirkwall, belly-aching laughs wrecking her body with him flat on the bench above her, roaring and unable to get up himself. She pushed herself up-right, still giggling like a youngster and still not caring because the world spun around her and it was marvellous. Gratefully grabbing his hand in front of her she hauled herself off the floor with his help. They stood on wobbly feet, grabbing arms, shoulders, sides, anything to keep them from falling over again.

He had a very handsome smirk on his face when he paced backwards, tugging her along and they were climbing steps and passing Varric's room and then she was inside somewhere because a lock clicked shut behind her and he pushed her up against the door, hungrily kissing her. It was clumsy but raw; he pawed her like an animal, grabbing her breasts forcefully through the thick layers of cloth and she wanted nothing more than to get rid of the stifling clothes. She tried to tug at the buckles that held pieces of her armour together but stilled her hands when he went down on one knee and before she knew he had lifted her robes up to her waist and his head dived between her legs. He licked her folds through her already soaked smalls and she had to scrape her nails along the door's surface for something solid that would help keep her upright as tremors wrecked her body at the slick sensation.

Her legs nearly gave out when he pressed the tip of his tongue down hard on her nub and moved it in circles, the cloth and her own wetness giving her the friction she craved exactly. Throaty moans escaped her, one hand found the door's hinges, the other grabbed his hair and he growled when she yanked too hard. She cried out in surprise when his teeth raked across her clit in punishment, legs trembling so hard he had to let go of her robe to grab her thighs, hands moving around and up to squeeze her buttocks pulling her even tighter against his mouth. His tongue kept pressing and licking at her and she felt she could come just like that but then he made a frustrated noise and forcefully pulled her smalls down to her knees where they clung, restraining her legs from opening up like she really, really wanted to.

She wanted to spread wide for him to delve his tongue inside and lick her to completion, panting like a bitch in heat. But delve he did, and his slick, skilled tongue against her slick, swollen folds was more than enough to make her feel like her head would explode. Hawke was sweating all over in her layered clothing, sticky and filthy yet more aroused than she'd ever been in her life. He used his thumbs to spread her folds, baring her open for him and then his lips were wrapped around her clit and he _sucked_ and _licked_ and _lapped_ over and over until she ached for him to fuck her brains out. She might have even said that aloud, screamed it perhaps for he chuckled against her and _Maker_ that did it for her, the added vibration sending her over the edge, coming hard on his wicked mouth. She groaned and panted, surprising herself with how alluring she sounded, shamelessly pushing his face against her soaked folds to keep him still, lips still wrapped around her nub and sucking ever so lightly, shocks going through her body at every pull of his lips until she could take no more.

When the last waves had passed, she tugged at his hair and he looked up at her from between the pushed up layers of her robe with the filthiest, proudest smirk which she would've smacked right off his face but those were _her_ juices on his chin and that would've just been so rude. He held no such reserves and rudely licked his lips, savouring her taste as he pushed himself up. The slightest stumble to his step betrayed he was still very much intoxicated, it made her stomach clench hard at the thought of having him sober. She leaned back against the door, legs wobbling and threatening to give out but then he pressed himself against her, steadying her and she breathed in and out deeply, desperate for air after the mind-numbing orgasm.

His head moved to claim her neck with soft, moist kisses that made her skin tingle from both alcohol and arousal. He giggled, actually _giggled_ making her snort at the silliness until he pulled back and drowsily looked at her.

"You are... ethereal," he murmured, "And what I wouldn't give to properly, as you said, _fuck your brains out_ right now."

She blushed and bit her lip, "So what's stopping you, then?" If he was suddenly trying to go all gentlemanly on her she might set that sexy hair of him on fire, Andraste preserve her.

He glanced at where she bit her lip, slowly bending down to pull it from between her teeth gently, a myriad of tastes and smells of pure sex invading her senses. He smiled sadly, then took her hand and held it against his crotch. Her eyebrows lifted in shock as she touched his flaccid length through his trousers.

"Haven't been able to... y'know... in a long time now," he said to her lips, avoiding her eyes, "It's not you, believe me, you _have to_." His eyes snapped up and she was struck by the stark fury emanating from them.

"It's ah," he continued, a blush creeping up on his cheek and she felt for him, as she had felt for him when her eyes landed on him for the first time tonight. "It's, uh, the alcohol, and probably the depression, and-"

She pulled her hand back to put a finger to his lips, shushing him, "You don't have to tell me, it's okay and I believe you. I really have no complaints after what you gave me just now."

His sadness seemed to lift a little at that and that was the least she could do. Completely honest, as well. For the first time that night, things got awkward. He pulled back a fraction, creating much needed space and with the desire gone, all that was left is how uncomfortable her clothes stuck to her body, a wave of tiredness washing over her.

Confident she could stand on her own, he stepped back, his warm body leaving hers completely. He dragged a hand over his face, clearly trying to shake off his shame and misery. Hawke wasn't sure if he wanted her to stay but from his closed-off stance it didn't seem like he would. She reached up to gently drag her knuckles along his flamed cheeks making him peek at her from in between his fingers.

"Thank you," she said, trying to make it sound as kindly as she could without shaming him further. He pulled his hands away and leaned into her touch, minutely closing his eyes.

A sly grin crept up his face, her breath hitching at the sensuality laying in that small lift at the corner of his lips, "In another lifetime, Serah, I would've bent you down over that table there and fucked you until the next Blight, mark my words."

She huffed at first, flushing at the raw hunger in his voice but couldn't stop a laugh from rolling out. "And I would've gladly let you, Ser Prince," she winked courageously.

They shared one last look; was he committing her to memory as she was doing with him? The moment dispersed, so she staggered back, turned towards the door and lifted the latch, creeping out without remorse. It only took a few confident steps until nausea and fatigue crashed down heavily on her. Holding out a hand to steady herself she noticed Varric's door slightly ajar at the end of the hallway. She stumbled towards it and almost fell inside, hanging on to the latch like a champion.

Varric cocked his head at her from where he was sitting at the table; feet perched on top, book in hand. "Look what the cat dragged in, you look royally fucked, Hawke."

She stood up straight, totally not clutching the handle of the door like a lifeline out at sea and gave him her best Isabela impression, hips cocking and all, "More like fucked royally, Varric."

"Yeah right, as if not the entire tavern has already enjoyed every bit of that. _Oh sweet Maker, please, please fuck my brains out!_ " His voice twisted in a terrible expression of her and she flushed from anger and shame. Surely she had not yelled it like that and _surely_ she did not _sound_ anything like that. At all. Maker, did she?

He grinned at her flustered spluttering, "And now you come to the dwarf for more? Andraste's sweet curves, you are insatiable, Hawke."

She burst out laughing and fell to the floor for the second time that night and _ouch_ it hurt this time. He sighed and got up, dragging her to her feet to shove her not unkindly on to his bed. There he started pulling off her boots gently which generated another peel of laughter from her, "Varric are you- you're not trying to seduce me, are you?"

"As much as I'm honoured at being sloppy seconds for the Champion, I think I'll pass this time."

The giggles dissipated, sleep swiftly conquering her now she felt comfortable and sated. A blanket was pulled over her and she sighed lovingly.

"Hawke?" One eyelid cracked open with her last strength, "Is he really the bastard Prince Alistair Theirin?"

" _Oooooooh_ ," Hawke drawled drowsily. "I think he told me that was his name, I remember now."

"What else do you remember? I've been trying for ages to get his story out of him but I never got further than him spouting the same nonsense over and over. You need to tell me Hawke, I need to write it down! Hawke? Hawke! Oh for crying out loud..."

She was vast asleep, snoring sweetly.

 

\--------------------------

 

The next morning, when Hawke had dragged herself out of Varric's bed she could kiss the dwarf silly when the greasiest fry-up was placed on the table in front of her. He smirked and shook his head with clear affection when she dived in enthusiastically. He kept to himself, blissfully silent for now. She knew he was patiently waiting to question her but he'd allow her to cure the hangover first.

Breakfast cleared she leaned back and stretched, unable to wipe the grin of her face.

Raised voices filed in from the tavern below. A tense look was shared between them to which he shrugged. Sneaking over, they opened his door slightly enabling a peek down to the main area of the Hanged Man. Being weary of bandits, sell-swords and assassins was a regular occurrence for them. There seemed no end to people trying to end her life on the notion of vengeance, for money or simply because she pissed some noble nughead off again.

There were fighters alright, but she was shocked to recognise the Ferelden uniforms on the soldiers, foreign to these lands. A noble in fine clothes stood with his back towards them, speaking to someone seated in front of him and although she couldn't see who he was talking to, the dread she felt in the pit of her stomach was there.

The soldiers were at ease, looking less like a threat and more like an escort. She realised they had come to take him away. The noble moved towards his men, showing her the slouched over form of Alistair. He stood up from his chair, hands clenching a pack in his hand tightly and to her sadness he looked terribly tired. The company filed out, he moved to follow them but halted for a moment.

Her heart hammered in her chest when their eyes locked. His eye twitched, an indecipherable emotion shining in those amber depths but before she could even try to comprehend his lip quirked up in the half-hearted attempt of a smile and he gave her a slight bow, regally holding a fist across his heart.

"In another lifetime, Alistair," she whispered to herself as he turned and left the tavern.

 

\--------------------------

 

Beyond the Veil, a spirit peered pensively down upon the scene.

"That," she said, crossing her arms, "Didn't quite work out the way we wanted it to."

"Not all is lost yet, it was only our first attempt," a second spirit waved a green hand over the pool, dispersing the image of men marching off into thin air. All that remained was a soft ripple on the surface, reflecting the green mists around them. The first was left staring ahead, a thoughtful look in the spirit's fiery eyes.

"He was broken, hurt, lost. She was full of life and anger," the second muttered sadly, "They were too far apart and could not find each other sooner."

The first spirit had to agree at that. In her eyes the two humans needed to be united, as all spiritually linked objects should. But Unity had failed and it had left her frustrated. The pull had been strong that one night, but the bonds that should have kept them together were too weakened by his previous life. She turned away from the sighting waters then gasped in shock.

"You're making a mess!"

The second spirit had drifted down to the shore to go through the stacks of cards that were piled up neatly there. Shiny, colourful papers went flying in a terribly undignified way as the second spirit discarded them left and right. The first flew over and grabbed the loose ones, making disgruntled noises.

"There was a system!"

The second looked up, empathy shining brightly through glowing eyes, "I am sorry you feel that way. Let me show you that it doesn't matter, friend. A system will not make us find the right choice. That is entirely up to fate to decide. Do you think it has any influence at all in what order we go through them? I say we each pick one of these piles and put the ones that feel good together."

"Feel good," she repeated with a frown. Empathy, as that was her friend's name, had an unnatural way of expressing himself. She had stopped trying to figure out the way he spoke aeons ago, now simply content with sharing a connection at a deeper level despite their shallow misconceptions. She trusted Empathy's natural skill at understanding her but for her friends' sake; she would always at least try to get his meaning.

"Yes, it's a sort of tickle... or a shock," Empathy picked up a card to demonstrate and handed it over to Unity. She peered at the image of what seemed a lot like one of the Creator's gods, just smaller and more... common.

"Do you sense it?"

Unity flipped the card over a few times, trying to conjure some reaction to the sharp edges, growling black and furred weight, "Err, yes. Of course I feel it. This is a good one."

It was Empathy's turn to frown, "No," he said carefully, "That is a bad one."

Unity gave up and threw the card off to what she hoped was the _bad_ pile, "Why don't you do the electing, and I will unite the pairs."

"Excellent, you always have such good ideas. Here are the firsts," he grabbed and dropped a handful of cards into Unity's arms, "You can go over them and see if you can find them a match?"

Happy with a task she was more familiar with, Unity sat down back-to-back with her friend to do just that. The pair worked silently for lengths of time, content to have something to do other than drift about in the endless Fade and being poked at by sleep-drunken mages. The pool had been an grandiose find; it was hidden from view by large rocks and held no interesting objects such as smashable mirrors or random lost memories. The absence of nosy demons was welcome as well, which automatically kept the excruciatingly boring drudge of Circle mages going through their harrowing far from their presence.

The cards had been an oddity. It was uncertain if they originated from here or from _over there_ , but here they were. Conveniently placed next to one of the sighting-pools that the Spirits of the Fade could use to look into the possible realities of that wonderful living world. Each card was covered with the same pattern on one side, but on the other it held unique, colourful images of objects, texts and faces. And it was two of these faces that had inexplicably pulled the interest of them both. Unity had immediately put the two cards together and mentioned that they just _fit_. In turn, Empathy sensed the bond between them and they had both agreed to envision the story behind the pair, using their powers on the liquid to play it out.

Now those two cards lay cast aside, clearly not the correct combination although Empathy had voiced having no idea why that would even make sense. Unity eyed them one last time; one brown, a bit filthy on the edges and smelly. The other a crackling blue that reminded her of some of the more powerful mages that passed through the Veil into their world, but with a distinct bitterness surrounding the card's aura. She could still not sense anything good or bad from it, however. They simply _were._

"Oh!"

Unity turned around at the gasp of her friend, drifting to see over his shoulder. She squinted at the two cards that Empathy held in front of him, "Hey, aren't they...?"

"Yes, they are the same, but they are also so very _different_. They feel more...coupled," he seemed unsure at this last bit.

"They certainly look more robust, durable. This one," she pointed at the woman, this time a fiery red opposed to the sparkling blue of the previous card, "Seems to almost match the strength and resolve in the grey male. They are conform."

Empathy beamed up at her, "So you _do_ feel good or bad. I should have known that it's the method you _feel_ that is different. I understand you. Come, let us cast these in the pool and see what happens. Oh, I feel positively giddy at the prospect. Don't these two just look so beautiful together? I can practically feel the passionate energies pulling them together."

Unity stifled a laugh in her hand at her friends' eagerness. But she nodded encouragingly; this was how it had to be. They would get it right this time.

From behind dark rocks, a pair of brilliant blue eyes was secretly observing the duo. It wrenched dry claws together in glee; everything went according to its plan. Soon, very soon, it would be basking in delicious power.

**Author's Note:**

> This work can be read as a one-shot. If you are curious for more, stick around.  
> Find me on [Tumblr.](http://xaverri.tumblr.com/)


End file.
